When Angels Forget
by Ivy Leaves
Summary: They are not as dead as you think they are... Sacrifices resurrected them, and after sixteen years of hiding, they reveal the truth to the world... Chapter Two: "...living proof that death was not always forever..."
1. For Ophelia

**TITLE: **When Angels Forget

**SUMMARY:** Lily and James are far from dead…

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When Angels Forget 

Chapter I: "For Ophelia"

            Sirius Black arrived on his broomstick—Hagrid had borrowed his motorcycle—accompanied by Ophelia Evans (the twin sister of Lily Potter, née Evans) who was terrified of flying and so had been cutting off his circulation by clutching him tightly the entire time.

            But then, Sirius really didn't feel like he could breathe anyway.

            Now, he surveyed the ruins with a sorrow too great for words and far too great for tears. He felt empty inside, which was a first, as usually he was full of_ some _emotion, whether it was a good or bad one—well, that was up to the day. But now… 

Sirius had been orphaned when he was very young, at most eighteen months old. He did not miss his parents, for he had grown up with an uncle that had been a parent to him in every sense of the word. He did not cry over them, he never felt a loss of anything… he forgot them, simple as that. But James Potter had been his best friend, his brother, his companion, and Lily… Lily had been the one that kept James happy, the one that comforted him and gave him everything that Sirius could not. She had loved James, and James had loved her back, and now that they were gone, there was nothing left for Sirius. They and their love had been the only thing Sirius found to be strong, and without them… Sirius' world had caved in on him.

            "Are you okay?" Sirius felt Ophelia's fingers touch his back lightly, as if a butterfly had landed there. Sirius started to nod resolutely, but then started shaking his head.

            "No," he replied. "No." The words themselves burnt a thousand holes into the atmosphere, etching out the pain he felt. Ophelia's fingers gripped him harder, and when he turned weakly to look at her, her hazel-green eyes understood.

            "That's good," she said simply, "because neither am I."

            Ophelia was a tamer version of her sister: her eyes were browner than Lily's, her hair was an attractive auburn as opposed to flaming red, her skin was slightly darker and less like a ghost. Her demeanor, too, was altogether more controlled, more quiet and elusive, and one could exaggerate things slightly and say they were complete opposites. Nevertheless, Lily and Ophelia had been so close that when they were apart, the other suffered immense emotional damage, so huge that it was unexplainable… without the other, one would begin leading a hollow life. This was why it was so vital that both had gotten into Hogwarts, and this was why they were so lucky to both go to Hogwarts and both be sorted into Gryffindor. Without one… they were none.

            Sirius stared at Ophelia as this all came rushing back to him. He missed James so much it was indescribable, but he could go on. Ophelia, on the other hand, would die her own death, and her soul would deteriorate. The bond between the sisters was unexplainable, and Sirius strongly felt that there was some hidden, ancient magic that connected the two.

            "Your bond…"

            "Is broken," she finished. "I know. I will waste away." She did not look distressed at this thought. "It is my destiny, Sirius, to die."

            "Now is no time to start acting like Trelawney, Ophelia," responded an uncomfortable Sirius with a hoarse voice. The gravity of the situation had them calling each other by their full names. "You might not die, precisely…"

            "Oh, I will die. I assure you." Ophelia tilted her head slightly, her loose curls of silky auburn hair tilting with it. "Have you heard of the Morio spell?"

            "No!" shouted Sirius, then quieted, not wanting to scream over the corpses of his long-lost friends. "You won't be able to save them both, and…" Sirius wished desperately that he was even the faintest bit religious so that he could say that they were together now, anyway. "and… no one wants to lose you, Ophelia." Once more, full names… this was so painful.

            "Oh, Sirius." Ophelia smiled a dazzling smile, one of the few traits she shared with her sister. "You don't love me, you know. Remus… well, Remus and I could have amounted to great things… but he has more to worry about…"

            "It could kill him," rasped Sirius. "All the werewolf business, and now this…"

            "Werewolves do not die of grief, Sirius," Ophelia said gently. "The only way they can die is if they are outright killed. It will hurt him, but I can guarantee he will recover. I am an Elemental Seer," Ophelia informed him, pain lacing that final word. She was something she did not want to be. "I have never admitted that to you, or James, or even Remus… Lily was the only one who has heard me say that. Remus knows, I have told him in so many words, but I have never said outright, 'I am a werewolf.' I wish you to tell him I told him so, for I will not live to talk once more… my last word to him was 'forever', and so fitting it is. I will not be forgotten, Sirius, although I will not be remembered. I will live as a spirit, and those who know me and miss me shall remember me, and those who did not know me and do not experience grief for my death shall forget me. This is the way you will live, remembering me. I wish you to remember me happily. Please, Sirius, tell Remus this, and Lily, and James. Please, as my final wish."

            "Ophelia, Lily will waste away for you as well…"

            "No," answered Ophelia, "she will not. She loves James inexplicably, and I know this. She will grieve… she will miss me… but James will be there for her. However strong Remus and I may have been able to grow together, we would never have achieved what Lily and James have. Lily and James are first and foremost—Lily and James will triumph. The world may not be ready for the loss of an Elemental—it most certainly wasn't ready for the loss of Lily—but no one knew I was an Elemental, and with the return of Lily… you understand that Lily is the Elemental Blood, correct?"

            "Yes," Sirius said quietly. "I do." 

Lily had told him—he was one of the four she had told: James, Remus, Ophelia, and then him. Lily had not trusted Peter when she discovered this nor did she trust him when she revealed it to the others. Although he, too, was a Marauder, Lily did not judge her friends by whether they were Marauders or not. Lily was, if anything, an excellent judge of character.

_            Too good of a judge, _Sirius thought dully, looking at the ruins.

            "Good. Then you understand… there is another Elemental Seer—Dumbledore. There is only one Blood. I am not the key in this, Sirius. Lily and James are."

            "But—you can only save one with the Morio spell," Sirius reminded her. Ophelia shook her head.

            "No. You remember, Sirius, that Lily and James were married with the Infragilis…"

            "Oh."

            Sirius closed his eyes, remembering. The silver hue, the sparkle… it was a precaution, but they had been so full of joy after completing the ceremony…

            "They cannot part."

            "I remember."

            Minerva McGonagall interrupted the two by Apparating into the clearing. Looking around, she quite obviously saw them, but made no comment. She regarded the ruins with an impenetrable stare, and Sirius wished that for once, just for_ once, _she would show_ some _feelings. It hurt too much to see an unemotional face in light of his best friends' tragedy. But then… it was McGonagall…

            McGonagall Disapparated, and Sirius was left with pleading eyes. He did not want to see another friend die.

            "Sirius… I am not doing this because I hate my life. I am doing this because Lily and James deserve to live. Voldemort… Voldemort wanted them dead. He does not know about me. I am insignificant, Sirius. I am the sacrifice, a lamb to the altar, but I am a willing lamb, and they can take my life—you know I will never die, don't you, Sirius?" She placed a cold hand upon his cheek—a hand so cold it felt as though she were already dead. "I will not live with guilt. I can perform the spell, and perform it I will. I will save Lily and James, and together we can conquer the universe. Just… never let anyone say I was selfish." Ophelia smiled an odd smile. "I am Ophelia. I know you don't read Muggle plays, but… I was fated to die, and die my body shall. I will become an angel. Oh, I know you're an atheist, don't start—I will become an angel. Not an angel in heaven, an angel on earth."

            Sirius did not reply, and Ophelia sighed, taking her hand from his cheek.

            "Ophelia—"

            "I will be a martyr. I will not be condemned to the life I would have led. I will save more than just their lives when I do this… I will save a world. They can conquer Voldemort together, along with Harry. The magnificent trio of Potters… and then all their supporters…" Ophelia sighed. "Don't argue, Sirius. It's not worth it. My mind is made up. My body will die, I will live…" Ophelia paused. "Tell Remus… everything I told you. He needs to know. And I do love him. Tell him that as well. Reassure him…" Ophelia trailed off, her hazel-green eyes determined. "Don't stop me."

            "I…"

            "Don't," said Ophelia firmly. "I don't care if you want to. Don't. If you save me—how do you know I won't just commit suicide? I am not ending my life, Sirius! I will never leave! You'll always remember me as Ophelia, the drowned. I am not committing suicide—I am sacrificing myself. Self-sacrifice, as you know, is one of the most powerful things around. After all, it saved Harry, didn't it?"

            Harry. The one who would live as an orphan if Ophelia did not do this…

            "Yes." The word was full of pain, insufferable pain. Ophelia saw this and sighed.

            "It's not your fault, Sirius," she told him gently. "I would have done this anyway. Don't hurt. I won't have a corpse. Don't pity yourself—don't pity me. I do this out of my own free will, not because the world wants me to. It is for the good of the world, Sirius. I am not foremost. I will be an angel on earth, a martyr. I will not forget you, nor anyone else… no. Angels… never forget."

            And with that, Ophelia kissed him on the cheek gently and strode towards the ruins of the house.

_            "Seppellire indebolito," _she said quietly. From the dust and rubble rose two perfect bodies, untainted by dark, unhurt by death. They landed gently in front of Ophelia, the air easing them down onto the broken stones. Ophelia swallowed, and though her eyes betrayed sadness, she did not cry. The situation was far too desperate and serious to cry.

            Ophelia began the words of the ancient Celtic spell in a soft, sweet voice—that of an angel, that of a martyr, that of a savior…

"_O'r diwedd tiriodd f'enaid gwan…O ddyfnder moroedd mawr i'r lan…"_

Sirius, who never cried, had tears coursing down his tears in rages as the white aura surrounded Ophelia and her words grew stronger. She resembled an angel to the core, her black cloak open and the white dress she had on underneath standing out again the dark-green night. Her auburn curls spun in an invisible wind, her eyes were closed, her voice was steady.

"…_na allant na symud na gweithredu ond wrth ei ewyllys santaidd ef."_

            With these final words, the white aura flashed gold, and for a split second, Sirius could distinctly hear the choir of heaven singing. Ophelia's face upturned, she glowed gold, and—

            She was gone.

            Away.

            A forty-second spell had sacrificed her body to give life to another.

            Ophelia was an angel.

            Sirius cried for Ophelia for a minute, then walked over to Lily and James.

            "Come back," he choked. "Please. For Ophelia."

            Their eyes gave a small flutter and Sirius knew they were alive. That done, he kneeled down next to them and grieved.

            For Ophelia.

*

Okay. What did you think? I really suck at description, but oh well. This is my story about how Lily and James lived… *sigh* But it's not what you think—they don't go to take back Harry or anything. Oh, whatever. You'll find out next chapter.

I really have got to stop writing so many stories simultaneously.

Oh well. Tee hee. I'm shameless. Hope you liked it.

_Disclaimer: Harry, Lily, James, Sirius, Voldemort, McGonagall, Hagrid, Potters' house, and anything else you happen to recognize belong to J.K. Rowling. Hamlet belongs to Shakespeare. The Welsh stuff are excerpts from a book I found online…I don't know who wrote it. I'll try to find out, okay? Ophelia Evans belongs to me… and I must say, I am proud to own her…_

  
**R.S.V.P. – Review, S'il Vous Plait. Avec un cerise? Pleeeeeeease?**


	2. Living Proof

_~*~this chapter, if not the entire story, is dedicated to Aricraze, the ever-helpful, ever-friendly fellow author who put up with me for the whole part of the summer that I had access to a computer and much longer~*~_

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When Angels Forget 

Chapter 2: "Living Proof"

          Harry Potter was thoroughly exhausted as he stepped onto Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. Sirius had somehow been proved innocent the first week of August—Harry still didn't know the details—and had therefore been able to rescue Harry from the horrors of the Dursley house. However, Sirius was a very active (to say the least) man, and they had spent three weeks touring the wizarding world, which left Harry, understandably, quite tired.

          Which was why he was loping along half-heartedly, only too desperate to get on the train and fall asleep. Of course, he was Harry Potter, and fate was not usually his friend, which was why the Weasleys had to come into the whole thing.

          The only two Weasleys left at Hogwarts were Ron, Harry's best friend, and Ginny, Ron's younger-by-one-year sister. Despite the fact that in description, their appearances were almost exactly the same—except for the fact that Ginny seemed to have less freckles than any one of her brothers—Ron and Ginny had two quite different personalities. Ginny took after Fred and George, finding it her duty to continue the Weasley pranks after the twins had left as well as continue as a Beater on the Quidditch team (though Harry secretly thought that was only to make her over-protective brothers angry at her), whereas Ron… well, Ron was his own person. He didn't go out of his way for pranks, although he certainly performed them when the opportunity showed itself, and he turned down the chance to try out for Beater on the Quidditch team, which was precisely when Ginny took advantage of the open space and proved to Hogwarts that thin people really could kick Bludger bum. They weren't as different as night and day, but they certainly were their own persons—to put it mildly.

          Harry was greeted by a shout from Ron, who was having trouble with his cart, which seemed to be balancing both his trunks and Ginny's (probably the doing of Mrs. Weasley, who was, like Ginny's brothers, quite protective of Ginny), and by an owl which had squeezed between the bars of his cage and escaped, flying into Harry's face.

          "Down, Pig," grunted Harry, battering the offending brown owl that was beginning to remind him a lot of a Bludger. "I would have said hello."

          Harry finally managed to grab the tennis-ball look-alike and shove him into the cage on Ron's cart.

          "Hi, Harry," Ron greeted his less-than-awake friend cheerfully. "How were_ your _holidays? Were the Dursleys glad to find out that no one'd be able to kill you anymore?"

          "Come to think of it, they weren't," Harry replied. "I spent the last three weeks with Sirius."

          "Right, he was cleared. Perce told me." Ron tried to sound all-important… and failed.

          "Yeah. He's a bit too active for his own good. Sirius, I mean, not Percy. Percy…"

          "Wouldn't know fun if it bit his thin-bottomed cauldron," finished Ron. "Quite. Sorry you couldn't come to the Burrow this year… Bill and Charlie came home. Along with our grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins… horrid beasts they are, my cousins. We had to use Temp-Building to house all the family." Ron rolled his eyes, and Harry stifled a laugh.

          "Have fun?"

          "Loads, when the Cousins—capital C, mind you—were out. And when we played Quidditch. Excellent game, Quidditch is, when you play with nineteen players."

          "Nineteen? How'd you manage that?"

          "Two Keepers, three Chasers, three Beaters, and a Seeker for each team."

          "That's nine. Nine and nine don't make nineteen."

          "Well, and the Quaffle."

          "The Quaffle isn't a person."

          "It is when you give Michael—he's the smallest—a bottle of Bubble-Up every morning in his cereal."

          "Hopeless family, Ron, hopeless. Bubble-Up? Whose idea was that, anyhow?"

          "Actually, Michael's. He always wanted to live in a bubble."

          Their oh-so-interesting conversation was interrupted as a redhead removed two trunks and a cat's cage from Ron's cart.

          "Thank you for carrying my trunks, Ron," she said politely, a French accent lacing her words delicately.

          "It's not like I had a choice," Ron answered, rolling his eyes again.

          "I was trying to be polite," the girl retorted. "Excuse me for my futile attempts."

          "Ugh, big words. I can't understand you, Miss Formality."

          "Why do you think I use them?" The girl then proceeded to stack one trunk on the other and push them steadily towards the train. Harry watched her go, completely lost.

          "Ron?"

          "Yeah?" grunted his put-off best friend.

          "Who was that?"

          Ron looked up at him, disbelieving. "Guess, Harry, just_ guess." _

          Harry watched the redhead shove her trunks towards the train, determined. His jaw dropped. "That—that wasn't_ Ginny?" _

          "Well, of course it was," said a voice from behind him. Harry didn't have to turn around to recognize Hermione Granger. "Who did you_ think _it was?"

          "What happened to_ her?"_

          "She," began a disgusted Ron, "got a summer internship at the French Ministry."

          "Oh." Harry was speechless. He had seen Ginny growing up, all right, but—well—she had never grown up like this. Somehow, the awkward prankster had turned into a mature young woman overnight, something that rather scared him.

*

          "I've been here for thousands of years, Sorted short and Sorted tall," sang the Hat cheerfully, singing yet another new rhyme. It captivated most of the Hall, but Harry, who would usually be fascinated by the Sorting, was staring down at his shiny golden plate absent-mindedly, uninterested in the Hat's song. He, indeed, was more interested in the maturing of one Virginia Lisabeth Weasley, even though Ron would kill him if he knew that Harry's mind was focusing on the red-haired sprite.

          "Something wrong, Harry?" Hermione hissed, nudging him. "You look perturbed."

          "Tired, is all. Sirius has some lifestyle," Harry said, forcing a smile. Hermione looked unconvinced, but shrugged it off.

          "There are three empty chairs at the staff table, you know. You don't think we have three DADA teachers, do you?"

          "No," Harry said dully. "Or maybe."

          "I wonder why," a puzzled Hermione thought out loud, ignoring his comment.

          "I dunno."

          "Honestly, Harry," sighed Hermione, "why_ don't _you go live in your own little world?"

          "Thanks very much," Harry replied. She looked rather put-off, and proceeded to start talking to Ron instead.

           But it's not like I can help it, thought a remorseful Harry, whose thoughts were on everything but his and Hermione's conversation-that-wasn't. It's Ginny's fault, isn't it? The little prankster's gone and decided to play a prank on her brother's best friend by growing up. That's all. It's just an act, really, it is… 

          But then he happened to look at Ginny, who was avidly conversing in French with Larissa Dupont, a girl whose native language was French, and he realized that it was a very, very good act.

          He moaned inwardly and turned his attention towards the Sorting, where "Rye, Sellway" was being Sorted into Slytherin and was being followed by "Sabio, Eleanor" being Sorted into Ravenclaw. An accident-prone-looking boy was sorted into Hufflepuff, as was the boy in line after him, who looked to be his twin. A new Gryffindor ("Slugg, George") joined them moments later with a smile and an apparent volatile appetite.

          After running through the rest of the first-years alphabetically, McGonagall put away the parchment, levitated away the Hat and Stool, and sat down at the staff table to eat. Dumbledore, taking his cue, stood up.

          "Welcome all," he said happily. "I will most likely suffer a great penalty if I do not allow you to eat presently, so for now, all I shall say will be_ dig in!"_

          And the overexcited students began to eat as food began to pile onto the plates. A couple of fifth-years well known for their jokes took Dumbledore for verbatim and began to, literally, dig in. Ron was eating mashed potatoes, turkey, and beef stew simultaneously, making for some very interesting flavors, Harry was sure. Hermione was taking dainty bites, but it was proof she had ended the off-and-on boycott of meals and was eating happily. Harry, on the other hand, was picking away at his food and swirling mashed potatoes and corn together to make "mashorn". He took random bites, not really paying any attention to his food.

          "You 'kay, 'Arry?" Ron asked through a mouthful of butterscotch. Harry smiled—Ron tried to make meaningful conversations (or at least as meaningful as _Ron_ of all people could get) through food every year.

          "Fine. Just—you know—not hungry."

          "No, I don't know," Ron said, leaning forward dramatically, captivated but still chewing his butterscotch. "What's it like?"

          "Oh, come off it, Ron. I _know_ you've been full before."

          "Well, yes," conceded Ron, "but not for very long." Ron's life was based around two things: food and Quidditch. Harry sighed and shook his head.

          "Never mind."

          Ron shrugged and returned to his meal, having finished his mouthful of butterscotch.

          Harry managed to take a few bites of chicken, butterscotch, and a Christmas pudding, but the truth was, he really wasn't that hungry. Sirius had a very large appetite, especially after being starved so long, and they ate three big meals a day—if not more.

          Of course, he might have had another reason for not being hungry…

          But he wouldn't admit that to himself.

          After the food had been cleared and Ron was a few belt sizes bigger, Dumbledore stood with a smile.

          "Welcome, everyone! I'm pleased to see that you seem to be enjoying Hogwarts so far, both new and seasoned students," he said brightly, eyes moving slightly towards the sullen, like always, Slytherins. "Most of you, at least. I do, however, have a few announcements for this year, so I will detain you for a bit from going to your common rooms.

          "First of all, Slip-Up: The Ultimate Puddle-Making Potion has been banned. I advise you not to use it or any of the other items on the ban lists, or Mr. Argus Filch will have to resort to extreme measures. _Extreme_ measures," stressed Dumbledore. Then he smiled a small half-smile, eyes twinkling from under the half-moon eyeglasses. "Miss Weasley, you could do well to remember this."

          This comment was met by a charming smile and a "Who, me?" courtesy of Ginny.

          "The Forbidden Forest is, like always, off-limits to all those who feel their lives and sanity are important, and the other side of the lake is, I am sure you are aware, also off-limits unless you have permission from a professor or the Head Boy and Girl who are, this year, Miss Hermione Granger of Gryffindor and Mister Andrew Laurence of Ravenclaw." Cheers from the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables erupted: they knew that the houses gained fifty points for each Head Boy or Girl in said house.

          "Also, the faculty has collectively decided that there is a possibility that we will hold, this year, a Yule Ball—" Here Dumbledore was cut off by shouts, groans, and whispers throughout the Hall.

          "A Yule Ball? What do they think they're doing?" Ron hissed to Harry, his face flushed. Ron was apparently not looking forward to this, which was no surprise, if you knew about Ron's previous experience with Yule Balls.

          "No idea," shrugged Harry. "I reckon we should think about dates if they do decide to have one—"

          "I reckon so, as well." Ron sounded miserable, but he soon brightened. "'Mione, will you get me a date?"

          "I most certainly will not," Hermione answered haughtily. "Ask out Lavender on your _own_, Ron. I don't want any part of it."

          Ron sighed dismally and looked at the table sadly, causing Harry to roll his eyes at his best friends' stupidity. It really drove him batty, seeing Ron pretend that he didn't like Hermione and vice versa. He had a feeling they partially ignored their interest in one another because they thought he'd feel left out—he didn't tell them that he felt worse when they bickered constantly and walked circles around everything.

          "Ahem." Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As well, you may have noticed that we have three empty seats at the staff table. I apologize, but it seems our remaining professors are unable to join us presently, though I assure you that you will meet them tomorrow, when you begin classes. I am unsure, but Professor Lupin, whom I know a few of you have encountered, may be returning to school, hopefully to teach Divination for a while as Professor Trelawney takes a much-deserved vacation."

          "Forever, hopefully," Ron muttered to Harry, who had to agree. Trelawney was not his favorite professor, per se.

          "As for the remaining three seats, Madam Hooch is currently coaching the Wimbourne Wasps for the year, as their coach, who was her brother, I believe, encountered a veela at the last match…" Dumbledore cleared his throat again, and several students snickered. "We have a temporary replacement, however, who will most certainly be present tomorrow. You have two Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, for reasons you will find out shortly, and as it may be a shock to meet them, I may as well introduce you to—"

          Suddenly the massive door to the Great Hall banged open and an exhausted voice called out, "We're here."

          All heads swiveled to see the petite redhead who was standing next to a lanky man with dark hair and eyes. They were both dripping wet and the redhead was shooting glares from time to time at the man, who looked very guilty indeed.

          Not many recognized them. Some had read books with pictures of them, but those were just books, and the pictures had long since faded into the dreary absences of their minds. Only a few Ravenclaws, who remembered everything, Hermione, who remembered everything, and a Slytherin third-year, who remembered everything, recognized them.

          Oh, and our two favorite characters, Virginia Weasley and Harry Potter.

          Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth as her eyes widened to abnormal proportions, the same reactions of most of the other students who recognized them. Except, of course, Harry, who stared a bit and then fainted, falling backwards onto the floor in advance.

          "Ladies and gentlemen, James and Lily Potter," introduced Dumbledore. This caused nothing short of an uproar. The Great Hall erupted in chaos and nothing could be heard over the din.

          "WHAT THE—"

          "But they're_ dead!" _

          "Hoax!"

          "WHAT THE—"

          "I don't believe it!"

          "WHAT THE—"

          "Silence, please," came a loud voice. The student body settled, whispers running throughout the Hall, and looked at Dumbledore, who had apparently cast a Sonorus charm on himself.

          "Quietus," murmured Dumbledore, pointing his wand at his throat, the Sonorus charm unneeded since the majority of the noise had disappeared. "This is Professor Lily Potter; this is Professor James Potter," he informed them calmly, indicating the redhead and the man respectively. "I am telling the truth—they are not as dead as you think they are, quite apparently, and if they wish you to know the details of why and wherefore, then I would advise you to ask them in class tomorrow. Since I do believe that we have had rather enough excitement for this evening, will the prefects please lead the first-years to their respective houses, and please leave Mister Potter alone. I will take him to the hospital wing and he will most likely be back in his house before the evening is over. Thank you very much, and I hope your first night at Hogwarts, whether returning or new, is as enjoyable as possible."

          With that, Dumbledore waved his hand and dismissed the students, watching them swarm like bees from a hive out of the Hall. Some of the Gryffindors lingered worriedly, but slowly exited the Hall when they saw Dumbledore looking at them.

          "Minerva, I will take Harry to the hospital wing," Dumbledore notified his colleague. "Please arrange for Professors Potter to receive some form of dinner in their quarters." McGonagall nodded in affirmation and walked off in the direction of the kitchens.

          "Lily, James, I presume you can force your memory back to fifth year and find at least the general vicinity of your quarters?" inquired Dumbledore, eyes sparkling with amusement. Mischievous smiles arose on the couple's faces as they nodded. "There should be a nameplate on your door, if I'm not mistaken. I hope you find the quarters comfortable?" He raised his eyebrow, and Lily and James took their cue to leave. Lily glanced back at her comatose son as they exited, but apparently decided Dumbledore was quite capable of handling the situation and left.

          "Well, now Hogwarts has seen it all, hasn't it?" Dumbledore inquired brightly. "Professors include a ghost, a resurrected couple, a lycanthrope… I suppose next we'll be having an undead with us."

          But none of the professors answered this attempt to lighten the mood; all their thoughts were focused on a pair of professors who were living proof that death was not always forever.

*

That was weird. Oh yes. Very weird. I apologize if it was too weird for your taste, but I guess it went… okay.

I'm mad at myself, though. I was trying very hard to not make Harry realize how much Ginny has, to quote, "grown". So she "matured". And please note: that wasn't meant to be a physical beauty reference. It means she's more worldly, more elegant, more cultured, etc., etc. Does that make sense?

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns all characters, places, items, etc., except for the ones that I own, which are: Michael Weasley, Larissa Dupont, Sellway Rye, Eleanor Sabio, George Slugg and his twin, Anthony Laurence, and… I think that's all. Anything you don't recognize is most likely mine.

_I claim no affiliation whatsoever with J.K. Rowling and/or Scholastic Press and copyright infringement is not intended._

          Please review… Please… Please… Please… REVIEW…


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